


10 Things I Hate About You

by clarkedarling



Series: film aus [2]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: 10 Things I Hate About You AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkedarling/pseuds/clarkedarling
Summary: Popular athlete W. D. Wheeler is in dilemma. A family rule forbids him from dating until his unpopular, rebellious, boy-hating younger sister Anne gets a suitor of her own. In an attempt to win W. D., a potential girlfriend Grace desperately attempts to set Anne up with Phillip Carlyle, another rebel whom may just be able to win Anne's heart.or, a 10 things i hate about you inspired story





	1. Intro.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched this film the other day, and I couldn't help myself. I've created two new characters, but they could easily be one of the background characters from the film if you want them to be - it's just I found it easier to make up new ones.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Anne Wheeler was perfectly happy with her life, thank you very much.

Of course it stung that her mom had disappeared to Europe with her tennis instructor, and hadn’t said so much as a goodbye to her two children. However, she had never been much of a mother, not beyond the fact she had given birth to Anne. Neither of the Wheeler siblings missed her all that much. And yes, her dad was taking his aggression out on his children, banning them from dating and smothering them, though the dating rule didn’t really affect Anne as much as it did her brother. It was the smothering she had an issue with. Her dream was to attend college in Los Angeles, where she could study the performing arts and begin her career in musicals. Her dad, on the other hand, had other plans. He wanted his children to become police officers, just like him, and live with him until they were forty. Not likely.

Alright, so not everything was smooth sailing. Her relationship with both of her parents was rocky, or even non-existent, and her brother wasn’t all that keen on her either. He feared that her reputation as a _‘heinous bitch’_ was tainting his upward spiral to eternal popularity. It wasn’t enough that W.D. was captain of the football team, or scored all the leads in each of the school plays, but he had to disassociate himself from Anne entirely. She was lucky if her older brother looked her direction in the corridors.

Over the years, Anne had grown used to his cold shoulder, and it no longer hurt as much as it did at the start. He was a whole year older, and a senior at Circus High School in Manhattan, so he was soon heading off to college. She wouldn’t have to suffer with him much longer.

Reputation was the least of Anne’s troubles. She really couldn’t care less what people at school, or anywhere really, thought of her. Their opinions on her weren’t important. They were usually unpleasant anyway. Since she had decided to start wearing less make-up and speaking up more, she had grown into the nicknames _‘ice cold bitch’_ and _‘wicked witch of the east’_. People really weren’t all that creative. Friends she had relied on in middle school soon floated away, and only Lettie Lutz had remained. She was kind, if a little shy, and Anne found that while she drowned out people’s comments about her, when they came to Lettie she was more than willing to resort to sharp words. If that didn’t work, which it often didn’t, then mild violence was the next best option. This had landed her in many detentions, and when that wasn’t seeming to do much but waste everybody’s time, then the school counsellor was brought in to see what could be done.

Charity Barnum was the wife of the principal, and a sweet woman. She hadn’t a bad bone in her body, which made going to see her all the more difficult. She would never raise her voice at Anne, only look at her with disappointment. It never failed to make Anne feel guilty.

It was on one such visit that Anne found herself sat in front of Charity, arms folded, listening to another speech about why violence is never the answer.

“Do you really think that Vasily deserved that kick to the . . . groin, Anne?” Her voice was soft, and calm, though her lips were taught.

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Anne sighed. “Honest answer? Yes, I think so."

“He’s a foreign exchange student. That’s not how we welcome others into school. What’s his parents going to think when he tells them what happened today?"

“Let’s hope they presume to think it’s some odd American custom,” Anne retorted. She was trying hard to keep the grin off her features, knowing that it would only disappoint Charity further. “Look, it’s his own fault, foreign exchange student or not. I will stand by the fact that he kicked himself in the balls if his parents want to complain."

Realising they were merely going around in circles, Charity glanced down at her watch. Lunch break was nearly over. “Anne, I think we need to have another meeting to discuss better alternatives to violence. Stop by tomorrow, and we’ll continue this chat, ok?"

Nodding, hesitantly, Anne got up from the chair, and dragged her bag behind her. She gave Charity a small smile, before disappearing out of the door. She found herself face-to-face with a girl she didn’t recognise, and groaned. “Watch it!” she exclaimed, leaving the boy spluttering after her.

* * *

“Are all the students as . . . unforgiving as her?” Grace Cameron, the latest student to join the class of 2019, asked Charity.

The guidance counsellor took a pause before answering, as though debating the question in her head. It was clear she was fond of Anne, but knew how others perceived her. “At Circus High, you’ll find all the usual characters, Miss Cameron,” she tactfully replied, politely.

Grace Cameron was a clean-cut girl, and unlike Anne Wheeler she had no reputation to worry about. With skin the colour of coffee and a bright smile, her hair naturally frizzy like a lion’s mane, she was very pretty, though was clearly not aware of that fact, swathed in oversized sweaters and a pair of mom jeans, her dark brown eyes hidden by a pair of wide-frame glasses. Being the daughter of an Army captain, she had travelled across the country, attending a different school at least once a year. She was well-versed in high school stereotypes and tropes.

“So, she’s in the ‘ice queen’ clique?"

Charity shook her head. “No, I’d say Anne’s in . . . she’s in a clique all of her own."

That was the last they spoke of the infamous Anne Wheeler. Grace was given her timetable, and the usual welcome speech, though was made a little more comforting by Charity’s kind tone. She wished Grace luck, and pointed her to her first class, calling over a student to help. He was rather short, with a cheeky grin.

“Charles, do you mind showing Grace to biology? It’s in Mrs Rowbotham’s room. Thank you."

Charles obliged, much to Grace’s relief. Usually people were a little less inclined to be lumped with the new girl. He was very chatty, asking her about where she had moved from and how she was finding Manhattan. She found it very easy to talk to him, his constant flow of jokes calming her. They were getting on rather well, when a crowd of football players passed them, laughing raucously about something they had seen online. The leader of this rabble was a tall, dark-skinned senior, his grin enough to make any girl’s knees buckle.

Jaw dropping, Grace felt as though she had been struck by lightning. “Who’s that?” she whispered, afraid the aforementioned ‘who’ would hear her.

Following her line of sight, Charles spotted the captain of Circus High’s football team, The Lions, and rolled his eyes. “That’s W. D. Wheeler,” he sighed, as though fed up. “He’s practically the king around here."

Grace understood why; he was certainly some kind of Adonis, with chiselled muscles that could only have been crafted by the gods. Her heart fluttered, as she chewed on her lip, nervously. Charles noticed her erratic behaviour, and reached out to put a hand on her elbow.

“Not going to happen,” he warned her.

Frowning, her eyebrow furrowed, she crossed her arms. “Are you saying I’m some troll?"

“Oh no, no,” Charles quickly fumbled, a grin playing on his lips. “No, it’s not you. His dad’s forbidden the Wheeler siblings from dating.”

As Grace took her seat in biology whilst the teacher began spouting dull facts about osmosis, all she could think was what a shame it was that W. D. Wheeler couldn’t be somebody’s boyfriend - in particular, her boyfriend. She decided she was going to be the one to change that.

* * *

W. D. Wheeler was well aware of the kind of power he held over the inhabitants of Circus High. Walking down the halls, he felt like a champion, as though he had brought home another State Championship Trophy. Girls loved him, and boys wanted to be him. His jersey, red and white, and the name and number emblazoned on the back meant that he could do whatever he wished, whatever he desired - except date the girl of his dreams.

His father’s stupid rule had been more like a plague the past few years. It was made even harder when Michelle Donner, the captain of the cheer team, began showing her interest. She was incredibly good-looking, with long raven coloured hair, and a jaw-dropping figure. All the guys lusted after her, and she was never short of dates, but W. D. knew who it was she truly wanted; him. He’d tried his hardest to get around his dad’s ‘no dating’ rule, but it proved tricky. He would invite Michelle round to his house to ‘study together’, but somehow his dad always knew what W. D.’s ulterior motives were.

His irritating little sister never seemed to help matters either. For example, W. D. had convinced their dad that he had a late practice in eleventh grade, and instead attended a party at Michelle’s house when her parents were away. He had intended to lose his virginity to her, and had even gone as far as buying a new cologne for the occasion. However, Anne had caught wind of the party, and he was certain that it was her who had called the cops and got the party shut down. He supposed it was because she was jealous that she hadn’t been invited.

It was extremely embarrassing and frustrating to be the only virgin left on the football team. He hadn’t told anybody, too ashamed to, but he knew that the 'Wheeler Curse’, as it had affectionately been named, was public knowledge. It didn’t bother Anne, nothing seemed to unless it ‘misaligned with her beliefs and morals’, and that only infuriated W. D. further. Sometimes he thought that his life would be better if she had left with her mom to Australia, or Europe or wherever the hell it was she went.

He had one year left at high school. He couldn’t spend it watching Michelle parade around with a new member of each academic and sports club on her arm every week, or having his friends tease him for behaving like a monk. Constantine, his best friend since second grade, was currently dating the chess captain, Michelle’s best friend, the school mascot and Mrs Harris, the receptionist. If W. D. was a king, then Constantine was a god.

Sighing, Phillip high-fived his friends goodbye, and walked into French class. Taking his seat at the back, he intended to spend the rest of the lesson napping. However, Mr Murray had other ideas. He approached W. D. with crossed arms and a stern expression, shaking his head. “I expect better from you, Mr Wheeler,” he sighed. “You can’t afford to fail my class again this year."

W. D. flashed him what he hoped was a winning grin. “Don’t take this personally, sir, but it’s only French. I’m only here because I have to be to make the team."

“If I’m correct, you’re the captain of the football team? Well, did you know that to keep that spot - or any spot on the team, really - that you have to actually _pass_ a language?"

Kicking himself, he wished as though somebody had told him this sooner. He wouldn’t have wasted his last year barely scraping by, or at least found a loophole that got him out of the class. Groaning, he flipped open his book, and tried to keep his eyes open during the next hour. After struggling horrendously, he decided that he was in desperate need of a tutor.

* * *

“Look, Phillip,” P. T. Barnum, headteacher of Circus High School, began. His tone carried the weight of somebody who held a lot of responsibility, but wanted nothing more than to reach out to the students as though they were equals; friends. A smile was even tugging on his lips. “I know you’ve had a rocky time at home at the minute, but you can’t drop out of half of your subjects. Not when you need the qualifications for college next year."

Phillip Carlyle was a senior, who had just returned from a six month stint in rehab for alcohol abuse. The months away, though he had no recovered, had clearly taken it’s toll on him, and his new appearance came as a bit of a shock. In replace of his usual sweaters and Yankees shirts, he was wearing a baggy black t-shirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans. As a way to focus his cravings elsewhere, he had become quite a gym buff, and developed the muscles to prove it. His usually bright blue eyes were dull, and from the way he was sat, he clearly wanted to be anywhere else but the principal’s office.

“Are you going to say anything?” Barnum inquired, leaning forward. The student sat across from him simply stared back, blankly, and Barnum tries a new tactic. “What is it you want to be when you’re older, Phil?"

“It’s Phillip,” he retorted, and despite his sharp tone Barnum was glad to hear him talk all the same. “And I don’t know."

Barnum crossed his arms. “I think you do know. You’re an incredible writer. That’s where your passion lies, that’s what you should do."

Phillip shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood to talk ‘dreams’ and ‘passions’ with the principal. Not when his folder sat in-between them in the table, detailing his every sordid mistake and failure. His therapist's notes, his doctor’s notes, the institution’s notes were all in inside those pages. Whatever Barnum wanted to know, he merely had to pick up the folder. Scowling, he kept tapping his foot under the table - it was one of his first coping mechanisms to deal with his addiction. A form of channelling his frustrations. He was itching to leave the claustrophobic office, and get some fresh air by the bleachers.

“You don’t have to pretend like you care, Mr Barnum,” he replied. “How about you ignore me the rest of the year, and I ignore you? It’s a win win situation, sir.” Despite his fall from grace - as far as his parents were concerned - he still kept up some of what was expected of him, such as the manners.

“I do care,” the principal told him, kindly. “I don’t just care about results and grades and who gets into what college. I care about my students, especially those that don’t care about themselves."

Not many people had been nice to him since he had returned home, and he wasn’t sure how to take it in. Phillip’s throat constricted, but he tried not to let it show. Instead, he leant back in his chair. “Can I go now, sir?"

Realising that he wasn’t getting through to him, Barnum took a deep breath. He inclined his head, and motioned towards the door. Phillip didn’t hesitate in scooping up his bag from beside him and jumping up. Before he disappeared into the throng of students in the hallway, Barnum called out to him, causing Phillip to swivel around.

"Don’t shut out all help, Phillip. It doesn’t make you any weaker for accepting it."

With that, Phillip left, thinking on the principal’s last words.


	2. Rule Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne catches the attention of Phillip, and Mr Wheeler changes the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get that in the film version, Kat is quite political and opinionated. In this story, I channeled Kat's fiery nature and used it as an influence on the character of Anne, however making her political alignments better fit this day and age, and what Zendaya usually speaks about.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

* * *

“What did you call me, Miss Wheeler?"

Phillip was enjoying staring off into space and wishing the hours away, his eyelids drooping shut, when the familiar voice of Anne Wheeler echoed around the courtyard, drifting in through the window. Glancing out of the glass, he saw the slender and tall figure of Anne, her arms crossed and a face like thunder. As always, she was preparing for a fight. Wearing camel coloured sweatpants and a white t-shirt, sneakers on her feet and absolutely no make-up, she was the epitome of minimal effort. And yet, she still was prettier than majority of the girls at that school . . .

The history teacher, Mr Marks, eyes bulging out of his head, looked absolutely stunned. He was shorter than Anne, and appeared slightly intimidated by her.

“I called you a racist!” she exclaimed, adamant she was going to be heard. “You can’t give me a detention because of my hair!"

Phillip felt sympathetic for Anne, his eyes raking over her aforementioned hair. Her usual curls had been intricately braided, framing her face like a portrait. She looked rather nice, in his opinion, and didn’t understand how her was styled could possibly prevent her learning.

“I can do what I like,” Mr Marks replied, harshly. “It’s school rules; no inappropriate hairstyles. I’m afraid that your . . . hair breaks that rule. This isn’t a fashion show, it’s a place of learning - "

“You could have fooled me!” Anne spat, her teeth gritted. “Is it really worth all this trouble just because you don’t like how my hair looks? I guess in this society being a male and an asshole makes you worthy of my time!"

Students in Phillip’s class had all raced to the window, their faces pressed up against the glass panes, watching the argument below with morbid fascination. Their English teacher was trying her best to calm her class, calling everyone back to their seats, but nobody wanted to listen. They were all too invested in the fight unfolding outside. W. D., Anne’s older brother, remained in his seat, hands in fists by his side. Clearly he did not approve of his sister’s passionate display of defence.

The detention slip in Anne’s hands was being waved about, as she called him name after name. Mr Marks’s jaw was hanging open, his beady eyes somehow wider than before. “What do you know about my hair? What gives you the right to tell a black girl how she should wear her hair? Or how you think it’s going to stop me from getting an education? Please tell me, Mr Marks, I’m really interested in why you think this detention slip is valid."

Phillip’s curiosities had well and truly peaked, as he waited for Mr Marks’s reply. He hoped for the history teacher’s sake he had a good answer, or else there would be hell to pay.

“Are you done with your political rhetoric, Miss Wheeler?” he squeaked out, a vein throbbing in his neck, visible even from three stories up. His tone was dismissive and abrasive, as though he hadn’t been listening to what Anne was saying, only skimming through and hearing the insults. “You are making a scene. Get inside, now."

As if only realising the extent of which their audience had grown, Anne glanced around at the groups of students peering out at them in the classrooms. Despite her growing anger threatening to flood out, she flashed everyone a bright smile and curtsied. Some people began to applaud and cheer, encouraging her, only causing Mr Marks to grow more and more aggravated. Phillip couldn’t help but grin to himself as he watched Mr Marks try to drag Anne back inside, and presumably to the principal’s office.

Mrs Essex, their English teacher, started to clap her hands, loudly bringing her class back to reality. Nobody was really in the mood for Hemingway, not after the drama that had quite literally played out in front of them. Mrs Essex wasn’t the only teacher who struggled to control her lesson. Quite literally all of those who had a class with a view to the argument were unable to capture the attention of their students.

For the rest of the day, all everyone could talk about was Anne Wheeler. A girl, who people never usually had anything nice to say about, was on the tip of everyone’s tongues. Half of the student body didn’t quite get why she had stood up for herself and her hair, whilst the other half felt as though she had behaved admirably. Phillip was certainly in the second half, and thoroughly impressed. He respected how she had fearlessly fought for her beliefs, without worrying about consequences.

She intrigued him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

* * *

Anne was lounging on the sofa in her living room, a worn copy of Sylvia Plath’s _The Bell Jar_ propped on her lap. Every now and then, her hand reached up to brush her braids, gingerly. Mr Marks’s words were ringing in her ears; _‘I can do what I like’_. It made her blood boil. Did he really think that little of her that he wanted to put her in a detention - wasting an hour of both of their time - just because of something as trivial as her choice of hairstyle? As a black woman she cherished and adored her hair, after years of hearing it wasn’t as good as her peers. The time she spent caring for her locks was sacred, something most people would never be able to comprehend.

She was barely reading the novel anymore, her eyes skimming over the words, as her mind was somewhere far away. She didn’t even hear her dad walk through the front door. He planted a kiss atop her head, making her jump ever so slightly. Turning around, she saw that he was still dressed in his police officers uniform, his gun strapped to his hip. His beard was neat, and his dark eyes were warm. Handsome as ever, there was tiredness etched into his features, making him seem much older than forty-four.

“How was your day, love?” he asked, grinning at her over the top of a pile of post. “Make anyone cry?"

Anne chuckled slightly, and closed her book, folding the corner of a page over to mark her place. “Not yet, but it's only four thirty."

Before her dad even had time to laugh, W. D. stormed down the stairs. “I can’t believe you!” he roared. Anne knew he was addressing her, and why, but their dad didn’t. He furrowed his brow, and looked between the pair of them.

“What have I missed?"

“She made a complete fool of herself - and me! - at school today!” W. D. answered, pointing an accusatory finger at Anne. The emphasis in that sentence was on W. D. being humiliated, not Anne. The distinction wasn’t missed. “Got a detention too."

Their dad frowned, and let out a deep sigh. “A detention? Anne, it’s the first day. What did you do, hit another student again?"

“Actually I kicked him, but that’s not why I got a detention,” she began, peeling herself off of the sofa. She wanted time to defend herself, before W. D. threw around another batch of allegations. “Mr Marks gave me the detention because of . . . because of my hair. Apparently, it’s against school rules to have braids."

Sensing the sadness in her tone, her dad pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back comfortingly. It was soothing, and it was just what she needed. “Oh sweetie,” he muttered, softly. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, and knew that it was partly her fault the stress was even there in the first place. A pang of guilt shot through her. “Do you want me to go in and have a word with the school?"

Anne pulled back, and shook her head. She was suddenly reminded of being a little girl, and her dad rocking her to sleep when she’d suffered from another nightmare. “No, it’s fine. Mr Barnum said that I didn’t have to go, I just have to apologise to Mr Marks tomorrow."

“And your hair?"

“I explained it’s in braids because of the dance tournament. Barnum told me I can keep them in until the show next week."

Whilst her dad seemed to understand, W. D. did not. He sighed, loudly, and threw his arms up in resolution. “You just get everything handed to you, don’t you? Poor you, just because your mom left and didn’t take you with her. Perhaps she had the right idea."

Anne wanted to protest, to remind him that he was the current ‘golden boy of Circus High’, but thought against it. He wanted confrontation, he wanted an argument. He knew that bringing up her mom’s disappearing act to the south of France was going to pour salt on an already gaping wound. W. D. had a knack for guessing which buttons to press, just so he could garner a rise out of her, further painting her as some loud-mouthed brat. Of course it was something older siblings did, but the malicious way in which he carried it out stung her. Did he really despise her that much?

Their father interjected before W. D. words turned nastier. His hands fell to his hips and his nostrils flared, as he took on the stance that Anne suspected many criminals feared to witness. “That’s enough,” he snapped, eyes narrowing at W. D. in a cautionary manner. He turned to look at Anne, his features softening, but only by a margin. “You still got a detention today Anne. That’s not going to look good on your record. And don’t think I haven’t forgotten about you kicking that boy."

It wasn’t fair. W. D. was behaving like a spoiled child whose toys were snatched from them, and all he got was a glare and two words. Anne was discriminated against and defended herself against unwanted advances, and she was the one who was going to receive a speech?

“You have to learn how to control this rage,” he sighed. “Or you can kiss your dance team goodbye."

Her jaw dropped and an incomprehensible list of sounds tumbled from her mouth. Now it really wasn’t fair. Her dance team was her one escape from mundane life, her one creative outlet. The school had cut the team a few years prior after deciding to put all of it’s fundings and sponsorships into the football team - the same football team W. D. had championed to victory that semester. It wasn’t a coincidence.

Spotting W. D.’s triumphant expression over the top of their dad’s shoulder, she gritted her teeth. “Whilst we’re at it, who did you drive home tonight, W. D.?"

The smug look slipped from his face, and was replaced by one of utter contempt. Shaking his head, he was uttering an endless array of threats, when their dad shot him a warning stare. “What’s this?"

“Michelle’s just a friend,” W. D. tried to explain, but the damage was done. “I was just - "

Their dad began shaking his head, and then his finger. “No, no, I told you no relationships whilst your under my roof,” he interrupted. “None for you, and none for your sister."

W. D. scoffed. “It doesn’t matter about her! There’s no boy in New York, let alone at school, that would want to date Miss I-Have-An-Opinion-On-Everything!"

His comment was meant to wound, but really it just bounced straight off of her. “Like I care?” she laughed. “Have you seen the unwashed miscreants that go to our school?"

“Where did you come from? Planet Loser?"

“As opposed to Planet _Look At Me! Look At Me!_ "

An ear-piercing whistle caught both of their attentions, causing them to whip their heads around. Their dad had his fingers in his mouth, glaring at them with wide eyes. He’d be used to their bickering if he wasn’t working so much, Anne thought to herself. Then she felt another pang of guilt at even thinking that statement, knowing that he only worked long shifts so he could afford to send them to the prestigious school in uptown Manhattan, and the subway prices from Harlem to get there too.

“New rule, ok!” he barked, sounding remarkably like their P. E. teacher, Mr Carter. “W. D. can date - " Spluttering protests, Anne didn’t like where the end of that sentence was going. W. D., on the other hand, looked delighted. That didn’t last long. “When she does."

The finger he pointed at her suddenly felt like a relief, knowing that W. D.’s dating life was entirely in her hands. Now it was her turn to grin victoriously, and W. D. to complain. Clearly deciding he had had enough for one day, their dad disappeared up the stairs, presumably to take a nice, long bath far from his children’s arguing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anne's look, i used this: https://www.instagram.com/p/BX8LEqghN3Q/?hl=en&taken-by=zendaya as inspiration!


End file.
